


Just a Name

by Carapatzin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, Everyone Reads Hard in Hightown, F/M, Fenris Learning to Read and Write, Fluff, I Can't Stop Doing Cameos, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, One Shot, River Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4086682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carapatzin/pseuds/Carapatzin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe, when Fenris tries to write for the first time, Hawke's name is the first thing he learns.</p>
<p>Hawke, in-game, is given the option to teach Fenris to read.  Yet his progress is never specifically shown.  This is a quick, fluffy one-shot of what Fenris might practice reading and writing, once he starts to get the hang of his lessons.</p>
<p>Inspired by that line of dialogue, and some other headcanons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Name

It had taken River a little while to get used to Fenris’s sleeping habits.

To be fair, it had taken River quite a time just to get used to Fenris _being_ there at night.  If questioned, he always maintained the appearance that he lived in that cobweb-filled, sprawling mansion in Hightown, but he never _slept_ there – she figured he didn’t want to be alone at night anymore, just as she didn’t.  To her, the memories were too fresh when she lay in bed alone, stared up at the ceiling, and thought about them: Carver lying bloody and dead on that nameless stretch of dirt outside Lothering, the templars hauling Bethany away, her mum’s head patched onto a pale, wobbling corpse.  But with Fenris here, she could relax, think about other things.

Those other things had namely been, of course, his sleeping habits.  Fenris slept like a dead man, making next to no sounds and barely moving at all, but the slightest noise woke him immediately.  More than once River had sighed in her sleep and rolled over, only to see Fenris blink and glance at her with a sleepy glare.

He wasn’t actually _angry,_ she knew – he always breathed out a rough breath, pressed a kiss to her hair, and settled back into the pillows once more.  For all his fiery temper, he never could stay angry with her.  But even though she didn’t want to keep rousing him from his sleep, trying to convince her subconscious self barely to move had been easier said than done.

At least it wasn’t just _her;_ he’d told her once, a week or so ago, that Sandal had mumbled “enchantment” in his sleep from down the hall.  He said Bodahn snored like an angry bear, and sometimes he could hear Orana whimpering in her sleep, probably plagued by memories.  When she’d noticed the dark circles under his eyes, one morning after a particularly noisy night, she’d ruffled his silky white hair and tried to think of ways she could muffle her live-in guests.

Always in the back of her mind was the fear that these night noises would eventually drive him nuts, and that one night he’d drop her off at her estate and slink off into the night, heading back to his lonely mansion to sleep in the quiet.

Then there were the other things.  Fenris never slept without a tunic and pants, and even through the fabric, she could feel the tension in his strong, wiry muscles whenever she ran her hands over his chest and stomach.  And his lyrium markings tended to glow softly in the dark, thrumming with clear, ice-blue light; the first few nights had been interesting, waking up to a blue glow, but she’d eventually decided to think of them as a night-light of sorts.  A comforting thing.

Now, she woke up bleary-eyed in the middle of the night as she often did; she leaned her head against his chest and snuggled closer to his side, then remembered she’d been trying not to wake him up and cursed herself silently.

No, wait…he wasn’t asleep.

River rubbed her eyes with her fists and forced them open, realizing he had a book open on his lap and was quietly sounding out words, one finger tracing along the page.  He had one arm around her, the other hand supporting the book upright.  She found it mildly amusing that his lyrium markings gave him enough light to read by.

He paused at one word, and she could almost _feel_ him frowning at it.

“Dis-satis-faction,” she pronounced.

“Ah,” he said, “I woke you.  I apologize.”

“No, no… It’s okay,” she said, scooting upwards a little so the back of her neck rested just in the crook of his arm and shoulder.  The cold night air brushed her skin; she grabbed the disrupted blankets and pulled them up again.  “What’re you reading?”

“Something the dwarf slipped into your bookshelf,” he said, resting his cheek against the top of her head.  “I thought it’d be mildly interesting.  _Hard in Hightown_.  Quite the title.”

“Oh, hell,” she groaned.  “Varric needs a swift kick in the arse for that book.”

“He certainly has some… _interesting_ ideas,” Fenris said.  “But I had trouble sleeping, and it’s something to do.”

“I’ll give you something to do,” River mumbled, rolling onto her belly and kissing his chest.

He chuckled.  “You need rest, River.”  With that, he shut the book and tossed it onto the nightstand.  “I'll practice more another time.  Go to sleep.”

“Spoilsport,” she said, curling up on her side with her head on his chest; she could feel his hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on her back as she closed her eyes and heaved a heavy sigh, drifting off to sleep.

* * *

 

She must have woken up later than he had, because when she raised her arms over her head and stretched the kinks out of her back, she realized she hadn’t accidentally smacked him in the face.

The smells of eggs and buttered bread wafted into her room from the kitchen.  Orana must have been cooking breakfast.  River yawned and forced herself out of bed, wondering if Fenris had gone back to his mansion by now.  At some point she’d have to report to Knight-Commander Meredith to find out what the woman wanted from her – the letter hadn’t been informative – but for now, she’d be content to enjoy breakfast.

She pulled on a fur robe and padded into the main hall.   Once there, she found Bodahn standing at her desk and organizing her letters for her; Sandal sat on a high-backed chair, fiddling with an amulet of some sort, and Fenris sat on the adjacent couch, one leg slung over the arm, a quill in one hand and a parchment propped on his thigh.   Isabela sat cross-legged at the other end of the couch with a thin blanket draped over her lap, reading _Hard in Hightown_ and sniggering to herself.

“Who let you in?” River teased Isabela.

“No one had to, sweet thing,” Isabela said with a grin, not looking up from the book.  “This is _juicy._ Have you read it yet?  You should.”

“I think I’ll save it for another time,” River said.  Fenris looked up at her, gave her a soft half-smile, and returned to his parchment.

“Maybe I’ll borrow it at some point.  Give it to a couple friends of mine.  They’re the type to enjoy this sort of story… Well, Zev is, at least.  I think Shesi just indulges him.”  She chuckled to herself.  “Well, I think I’ll return to the Hanged Man.”  She stood.  “I’m starting to miss the smells of vomit and piss.  I’ll be there if you need me.”  She walked out of the estate, her curvy hips swaying as she did.

“River,” Fenris said.

She raked her inky black hair away from her forehead.  “Hmm?”

“How do you write an ‘i’?”

River chuckled.  It hadn’t been much of a shock to her when Fenris had mentioned he couldn’t write either; after all, that skill seemed to come hand in hand with reading.  He’d been an eager student, once she’d broken past his shame over not being able to do things most Free Marchers could do, broken past the quick bursts of self-directed anger when he couldn’t figure out a word.  And she enjoyed teaching him just as much, enjoyed the moments when he’d sit at the table with a  book and she’d lean over his shoulder to help him and he’d tilt his head back to kiss her jaw.

“Stick with a dot on top,” she told him. 

“Mmm.  Thank you.”

She smiled, leaving him to his own devices.

* * *

 

River liked to tidy up around the estate.  It took her mind off things, helped her focus on tasks other than literally keeping Kirkwall from exploding in on itself.  She liked to dust the furniture, stack things in neat piles, dab a little aromatic oil around the rooms to freshen them up.  Lavender oil had been her favorite as of late.  A relaxing scent, that.  Bodahn, when he was around, would help her with the cleaning; Sandal tried too, although he usually found some bauble that ended up distracting him.

This time, she worked alone, tidying up the table in the main hall.  _Hard in Hightown_ lay sprawled open on the table’s glossy wooden surface; with a soft smile she picked it up and shut it, smoothing her hand over the soft leather cover.  Something caught her eye beneath it: a piece of parchment folding in on itself, with only two words she could see on it.

Curious, she spread out the parchment, her eyes widening.  The writing was scratchy, nothing like the fluid, delicate writing Leandra had trained River to have, but she recognized the two words on the parchment:

_River Hawke_.

Her name.  Just her name.

* * *

 

She found Fenris back at his old mansion, finishing a bottle of merlot.  Drinking straight out of the bottle had always been a habit of his she’d never quite convinced him to drop, but really, it didn’t matter much.  He had his armor on, his shoulders and chin held proudly as he set the bottle down on the table and looked up, watching her approach him.

“Something you need?” he asked, his vivid green eyes soft.  “Did you need my assistance again?  You know I’m happy to give it.”

“Not exactly.”  She crawled into his lap on the chair and straddled his hips.

Fenris chuckled, his eyes darkening as he did.  “Perhaps you need my assistance in something of a more personal nature,” he said, his lithe fingers plucking at a strap on her armor.

“Your writing is improving,” she said, her eyes locked on his.

“Oh?”  Recognition seemed to dawn in his eyes, and he fell silent.  She wondered what thoughts crossed through that complex mind of his.  Eventually he spoke again, his demeanor calm.  “I thought I’d practice with your name first.  I apologize if my writing is nearly illegible.  Perhaps someday it won’t look like chicken-scratch.”

“Fenris,” she chided, leaning her forehead against his.  “It’s _perfect.”_

He just smiled, and tilted his head to press his mouth to hers.

**Author's Note:**

> (This is also found on fanfiction.net.)


End file.
